


Changing Times

by Fyre



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1643615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once a boy called Steve loved a boy called Bucky, but he wouldn't ever tell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changing Times

The first time, they were fourteen and Bucky had stolen Steve’s pencil.

Steve couldn’t reach to snatch it back, but if anyone knew Bucky Barnes’ weaknesses, it was him, and he dug his fingers into Bucky’s ribs, making him howl like he was being murdered. 

They ended up on the ground, Steve tickling Bucky mercilessly, and Bucky grappling him, cursing, kicking, and swearing vengeance.

When Steve’s breathing got heavy, they both went still. A breath too far and it could be fatal, and they both knew it. So they lay still, Bucky on his back, one leg wrapped around one of Steve’s, his hand at the back of Steve’s head, their faces close to each other. 

Bucky’s breath was hot on Steve’s lips and he could smell liquorice, and Bucky’s mouth was open, just a little, and his tongue was pink and his teeth were white.

Steve’s arm, braced on Bucky’s shoulder, slipped, and he fell just enough for open mouth to meet open mouth. It was warm and wet and he felt Bucky gasp against his mouth and he couldn’t breathe right, all of a sudden.

When the spots faded from his vision, he was sitting up, and Bucky had his arm around his shoulder, hugging him just a little too tight.

“Don’t you scare me like that again, you hear me?”

Bucky sounded mad, but he didn’t sound mad about their mouths meeting.

Steve leaned against him, trying to catch his breath. He licked his lip and could taste liquorice. 

 

_______________________________________________

 

The second time, they were fifteen, and they were at the movies.

Steve had written off the first time as just an accident, and Bucky never said anything, so they just pretended it never happened. Nearly dying on his best friend was a good cover for it. No one had to know he’d had the asthma attack because Bucky’s mouth was against his. 

They were good buddies, and good buddies went to the movies together. 

It was a movie called King Kong, and it was set in their very own New York, and they’d snuck out of school to go see it for the second time

Bucky loved it, but he kept making monkey noises right in Steve’s ear every time the gorilla was on the screen, and ever damn time, Steve would jump, and make Bucky grin like he was King of the world. 

The last time, Steve remembered and turned to glare at Bucky, but Bucky was already halfway towards him. He froze, staring, face right in front of Steve’s. Steve stared back. He wasn’t the kind of guy to make monkey sounds.

Instead, he did the next stupidest thing, and let his mouth brush against Bucky’s again.

He didn’t get a chance to pull back, not all the way, because Bucky’s hand was in his hair, holding him there, just for a second.

His heart was pounding, and he didn’t even realise he’d dropped the rest of his candy corn on the floor.

Not until Bucky - face right in Steve’s - gave the biggest monkey shriek he could have.

They were kicked out of the picture house and Bucky laughed himself sick, one arm around Steve’s shoulder. 

“We should do that again,” he declared.

Steve didn’t have the courage to ask what.

 

_____________________________________________________

 

The third time, they were fifteen and a half, and Steve’s mom was sick.

It was almost a tradition: if his mom came home after looking after infectious people, Steve would go and stay on the couch at the Barnes’s until she was better. She didn’t want to risk him getting sick, especially when it happened so much.

He didn’t mind.

They had a big couch, and when Bucky’s parents went to bed, Bucky would sneak down and sleep on a blanket on the floor beside him. Well, sometimes they would sleep. Most of the time, they ate candy and read comic strips, and Bucky would make Steve draw them as comic book heroes. 

Steve was working on one of those drawings when Bucky sprawled down on the floor beside him, shoulder to shoulder. 

“I don’t think I’d be the sidekick. I’m too good-looking.”

Steve looked at him. “I don’t think you’d be the hero either,” he said. “Heroes have to be smart.”

Bucky laughed and wrapped an arm around Steve’s head, rubbing his knuckles along the top of Steve’s head, and Steve squirmed and wriggled and fought until Bucky flopped on top of him, pinning him on his back on the floor. 

“Smart enough to pin you.”

Steve couldn’t think of anything to say. Bucky’s body was warm and heavy over his, and his thigh was pressing between Steve’s, and all thoughts - any thoughts - had gone right out of his head. His breath was coming a little too fast, and his hands were on Bucky’s shoulders, and in the pale yellow light of the lamp, Bucky’s eyes shone gold. 

Bucky’s tongue darted out, and his lips were wet and shining.

Steve could only swallow hard, staring at them.

Then Bucky’s mouth was on his, and they were breathing together, and his hands were tight on Bucky’s shoulders. He didn’t know what he was meant to do. He wanted to do something. Anything. But all he did was lie there and remembered to breathe.

Bucky lifted his head, just enough, and the shadows cut under his cheeks. 

“Am too the hero,” he said smugly. “I just saved your life.”

Steve smacked him upside the head, and pushed him away.

“Fine. You’re the hero.”

Bucky grinned in triumph, and Steve couldn’t help grinning back.

 

_________________________________

 

The fourth time, Steve was sixteen, and they were both black and blue.

Bucky got him a paint box for his birthday, but Micky Jones, the jerk across the block, snatched it out of Steve’s hands when he was walking home with it. He smashed it on the ground, right in front of Steve, and Steve flew at him without even thinking.

Bucky hauled the guy off Steve and got smacked around for his trouble. In the end, though, he sent the guy running.

Steve picked up the ruined pieces of his paint box. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

“You’re not the one who should be sorry.”

Bucky helped him up, dusting him down. He couldn’t see out of one eye, and he could taste blood in his mouth. His mom would be upset. People liked picking on him a lot more now that he was old enough to defend himself. 

“Let’s get you home.”

He didn’t remember much of the walk. His head hurt, and he was dizzy, and all he could be sure of was Bucky’s arm around him, keeping him upright. He sat down at the table in the little kitchen, and Bucky went and got the iodine. They knew where it was. Always had. Ever since the first day they met, when Bucky fell on his face and Steve was the one to help him up, bleeding and crying, while everyone else laughed.

They still laughed, just not at Bucky. He’d grown again, taller and broader than Steve by a long way, and he wasn’t showing any sign of stopping yet.

He sat down in front of Steve, and cleaned up the blood and the mess from Steve’s face and hands. His knuckles were bruised too, and Steve took the cloth, wiping Bucky’s hands gently.

“He broke your gift,” he said quietly.

Bucky’s fingers wrapped around his. “At least it was only the paint box.” 

Steve looked up at him.

For the first time, he wasn’t scared of what Bucky thought. Bucky protected him, and they were best friends, and always would be. He leaned forward and pressed his busted lips to Bucky’s, leaving a smear of blood there. “Thank you.”

Bucky knocked his forehead gently against Steve’s, his other hand curling around the back of Steve’s neck, squeezing lightly. “Punk.”

“Jerk.” Steve whispered back.

 

_______________________________________

 

The worst time, Steve was nineteen, and he could still smell the scent of the cemetery.

Bucky caught up with him at the door of his apartment. Not his mom’s anymore.

“I’m with you to the end of the line,” he said, and Steve wanted to hug him.

He couldn’t, not outside, not when people already muttered about him. He was too weak and sickly anyway, so it wasn’t a big surprise that other insults came his way. It wasn’t a big surprise to realise that some of them were accurate.

Mutely, he opened the door and let Bucky follow him in.

He hadn’t cried yet.

He didn’t know if he could.

The apartment felt empty without his mom there, even with Bucky beside him.

“You okay?”

Steve looked down at the key in his hand, then shook his head.

Bucky touched his shoulder, pulled him around, and Steve buried his face in Bucky’s chest, his hands curling into Bucky’s jacket. He wanted to cry. He wanted to cry for the woman who had fought and scrimped and saved and struggled to keep him alive, but he felt stretched out thin, drawn too tight.

“I’m here,” Bucky whispered, his arms tight around Steve. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve lifted his head, looking up at him, and he realised that he didn’t care what people said or did to him anymore. He didn’t care. His mom loved him, and she didn’t care what the world said about her, a working single woman with a son. She was strong, and he could be too, and the first thing he wanted to do, the first thing he needed to do, to know…

He lifted his hand to Bucky’s head and pulled Bucky’s mouth down to meet his. He had to know, one way or another, and when Bucky didn’t pull back or push him away, he knew the answer, and the tears came.

Bucky’s mouth was warm and wet and he could taste the salt of tears, and he didn’t know how long they just stood there, mouths moving against each other, tongues and teeth and lips and tears, but he was sobbing, and Bucky was holding him and kissing him, like he’d wanted him to do for years.

“I’m here,” Bucky whispered against his lips. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

_______________________________________

 

The first last time, they were twenty-five, and Bucky was going.

A lot had happened since Steve’s mom died.

The Depression got worse.

The world went to war again.

Bucky had to enlist, because he was strong and healthy and everything Steve wasn’t, and he was going.

Steve was happy for him, but it hurt knowing he couldn’t go too. He wanted to be strong enough to fight by Bucky’s side, to defend Bucky like Bucky had been defending him, ever since they were kids.

The orders were in and for a sweet moment, he thought they would have a last night, just them.

But no.

Bucky wanted to help him fit in, while he was gone. Bucky brought him a girl, a girl who wasn’t interested in a scrawny runt from Brooklyn, and Steve couldn’t blame her. Bucky was the one people wanted. He looked like the hero, all smart in his uniform, and smiling and tall.

And he understood, even if he didn’t want to understand, why Steve signed up to some crazy science reserve division. 

“I can be useful,” Steve said, as they stood outside the door of Bucky’s folks’ place. “I don’t know what they want me to do, but if I can be useful…”

Bucky ruffled his hair. “I know,” he said. He looked at the door of his home. “Should go and say goodbye to the folks. You sure you don’t want to come in?”

Steve shook his head. “They’re your family.”

Bucky’s mouth turned up, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yours too.”

Steve looked away. “Not when you’re gone.”

Bucky caught him by the shoulders. “I’ll be back,” he said. “Trust me.”

Steve looked up at him. “Or I’ll come out there and find you myself,” he warned, wishing he could be sure of that. He closed his eyes as Bucky leaned down, expecting nothing more than an embrace, but Bucky’s lips pressed to his, gently. 

“I’ll see you again, Rogers,” he whispered. “You don’t get rid of me so easy.”

Steve tried to smile. “Jerk.”

“Punk.”

 

______________________________________________

 

The last last time, they were twenty seven and crouched on an icy ridge high up in the Swiss mountains.

One by one, their team were spidering down the cliff side to the ledge that overlooked the train line. Steve was last, Bucky second last, and everything had changed. Steve’s science division had made him a soldier, and with some of Bucky’s unit, they had made him a warrior against the Nazis.

He was fighting shoulder to shoulder with Bucky, and it should have felt right, but it didn’t.

They weren’t the same, and it wasn’t just war that had changed things.

Bucky was brittle, on edge, and sometimes, Steve thought he could see fresh cracks.

He’d been captured, taken prisoner, tortured by the scientists of their enemy. That was who they were hunting. That was who they needed to trap. Steve was sure that if they did that, then maybe, Bucky might be able to smile again, and laugh like he had.

They stood at the cliff top and watched Montgomery descend.

“You ready, Cap?”

Steve looked at him. “Bucky…”

Bucky didn’t meet his eyes. “It’s not going to be easy.”

“Bucky, look at me.”

Bucky’s eyes were bloodshot. They had been for months. He tried not to make a big deal of things, but Steve always knew when he was hurting, and he wished he knew what he could do to help, but he didn’t know. He might be Captain America, but he didn’t know how to save his friend. 

“We’re going to end this,” he said. “He won’t hurt anyone else.”

Bucky’s mouth moved in something that was almost a smile. “I know.”

Steve stared at him, wondering how he could help Bucky, what he could do. All he could think of was the day when he’d broken, and all caution had gone. He stepped closer, lifting his hands to cradle Bucky’s face. His cheeks were ice-cold from the wind.

“I’m here, Buck,” he said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, something sparked in Bucky’s eyes, and he surged up, his mouth meeting Steve’s. His lips were dry and cracked and Steve could almost swear he tasted salt.

“You’re still a punk,” Bucky whispered against his lips, before shoving him back and leaping over the edge of the cliff, his line in his hand. 

Steve crouched down to watch him descend, and as he did, Bucky looked up, and when he smiled, it reached his eyes.


End file.
